Sweet Dreams
by C. E. Mott
Summary: Tag to 2x07 when Daniel is beat up by Vernon Masters' men. What if he'd been injured more seriously? Peggysous, flangst (fluff/angst).
**AU in which Sousa's injuries are a little more serious.**

"Hello. Vernon Masters. Hello?"

The voice grated on Peggy's spine as soon as it came through the phone, spurts of fear prickling through her skin as it traveled. Something had happened. She dialed again.

"Auerbach Theater Agency."

"Rose, it's Agent Carter—."

"Peggy!" Rose cut in. "Weren't you just on the phone with—."

"Yes, Vernon Masters answered. Where is Chief Sousa?"

Rose paused. "You know I haven't seen him today. I don't think he came in to work."

Fear filled her chest, thick and heavy. "Thank you Rose." She put the receiver down.

Peggy looked over to Mr. Jarvis. Even without looking at his face, she could see his distress in his slump, his dishevelment. She owed it to him to stay. But even now she couldn't breathe deeper than her collarbone where the air caught sharply. Something had happened to Daniel.

"Mr. Jarvis?" She tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

He turned to her, eyes red and swollen, mumbling "yes?"

"I am so sorry to depart, but I need to speak to Chief Sousa. The sooner I speak to him, the sooner we can find Whitney Frost." She squeezed Mr. Jarvis's hand, hoping the lie softened her leaving.

He nodded shakily. "I understand."

She smiled. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

The whole drive to Daniel's house, shakes and shivers raced through Peggy as though fear sparked in every cell. Nightmares flashed in her mind. She argued with them, rationalized, wrangled them into disappearance then another would materialize. She watched the dull dawn creep over her and struggled not to press harder on the gas pedal.

Finally, the house, ghostly in the last shadows of the still-low sun. Peggy took as deep a breath as she could manage.

"He's probably just caught the flu," she muttered to herself. With deliberate slowness, she walked to the front door and knocked.

No answer. That was alright. It must be difficult to get to the door with the flu and a crutch.

The minutes passed and she knocked again. Still no answer.

Peggy took another deep breath and curled her hands into fists. "Daniel, if you're in there, I'm coming in." This was ridiculous. She was breaking into a sick man's home. But the fear crystallizing in her chest wouldn't let her leave.

Peggy threw her elbow through the window, sending glass flying across the floor. She reached inside and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, Peggy moved through the front hall to the kitchen, glass crunching underfoot. "Daniel are you here?"

Faintly, from another room, a groan: "Peggy?"

She moved quickly in the direction of the sound, into the living room, and there, on the sofa, was Daniel. Peggy flicked on the light. Then her breath snagged in her throat. Daniel's eye was puffy, shimmering violet, and a rivulet of dried blood wound down the side of his face. His breath was jagged, his arm tucked under his jacket over his ribs. Small lines across his face betrayed his wincing, but new ones gave hints of a weak smile when he saw her.

"Peggy."

She knelt at the side of the sofa, brushing his hair aside and gently touching the cut at his temple. "What happened?"

"Some guys . . . showed up at my door last night . . . Vernon Masters, my best guess."

Peggy rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. "You're having trouble breathing. We should take you to a hospital."

"No," he said forcefully, trying to sit up and grimacing. "A hospital's a bad idea right now. You know that."

Peggy pursed her lips. She did know that. "At least let me assess the damage."

Daniel hesitated, then nodded, gripping the back of the sofa and lurching forward. He gritted his teeth at the strain, and Peggy put a hand on his back to help him up. Once he was upright, she carefully slipped his jacket off and began unbuttoning his shirt. Daniel concentrated on his breathing, trying to minimize the shooting pain that came with each rise and fall of his chest. Its shallowness made Peggy nervous.

When she pulled his shirt aside, she had to stifle a small gasp: his side was blotted indigo and midnight, stretching across his abdomen up the sides of his ribcage. "Oh, Daniel . . .," Peggy whispered. Gently, she touched her fingertips to his side.

"Careful." He put his hand over hers, ready to remove it.

She turned hers over and clasped his hand. "Daniel you might have broken a rib—or several."

"They'll heal."

"Not well without proper medical care."

"It's fine, Peg."

"I really must insist—."

"Peg," he spoke over her. "I am not going to a hospital. That's the end of it." Slowly, he lowered himself back down on the sofa and closed his eyes. "I'll just take a day or two off until I'm back on my feet."

Peggy stared at the bruises, brow furrowed. When she spoke, her voice was softer again. "I can't leave you here alone."

"And how's that?"

She gulped. "Ana Jarvis was shot."

He looked up at her again. "Ana Jarvis?"

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Whitney Frost got the better of me last night. I won't risk it happening again."

Daniel squeezed her hand. "It's not your fault."

She watched her hand in his, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "Since you refuse to go to a hospital, I can only insist that I take you back to Mr. Stark's house."

"That sounds find, but I'm not too keen on moving right now."

"Do you have any bandages?"

"Sure, there's a first aid kit in the hall closet. Shit Peggy, you're not going to try to fix me yourself, are you?"

"Somebody has to."

He almost laughed, but it transformed into a wince. Peggy trotted down the hall, pulled out the first aid kit, and splashed its contents on the floor beside Daniel.

"Lean forward please."

Daniel clenched a fist as he sat up. Peggy finished removing his shirt and began winding a bandage around his chest. He hissed at the pressure. She wrapped until only a few petals of the bruise peeked over the gauze.

"There you are. How do you feel?"

Daniel smothered a groan in the back of his throat. "I've been better."

"Right, well, we should move you to the car." Peggy snatched up his shirt and jacket and helped him back into them.

He swatted her hands away when she started buttoning his shirt. "I can do that much." He half grinned.

"Right, sorry." She looked down.

"Hey." Daniel brushed a strand of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger over cheek. "Thank you. For coming."

She rested her hand over his. "Of course," she whispered.

For a brief moment, all Daniel felt was where his hand touched her skin. Silence settled around them like sediment, and memory began to fossilize.

Then she dropped her hand. He followed suit and finished redressing.

"I'm gonna need some help getting up."

Peggy wrapped her arm around his back, steadying him while he swung his legs off the sofa and stood.

"Oh, right." She leaned over and grabbed his crutch. "Here you are."

"Thanks."

Her arm still around him, they hobbled out to the car. Peggy eased him into the seat, then started the car and took off. Daniel soon drifted off to sleep. From the corner of her eye, Peggy watched him slumped against the door, messy hair and ragged form, his breath finally smoothed.

When they reached the Stark house, Peggy gently shook his shoulder until he awoke and groggily looked around. His hand immediately went to his ribs.

"We're here." She dropped her hand.

Setting his crutch on the pavement, Daniel slowly got out of the car and stood. Peggy gently placed her arms around him and they headed inside, Daniel trying to hide his labored breathing and Peggy noticing every catch.

When they made it inside, he lurched towards the couch.

Peggy pulled him away. "I didn't bring you to Howard Stark's house for you to sleep on another sofa."

"Peggy please." He turned to her. "You've done enough for me. Thank you, but the couch is fine."

"Nonsense."

He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes briefly. "Peggy. Please."

She opened her mouth, an argument bubbling at the back of her throat, but changed her mind. "Alright."

He laid down on the couch, and Peggy dashed about gathering pillows and blankets. Once she had fixed him up, she knelt down beside him.

He smirked at her. "Not done patching me up yet?"

"I just want to make sure you're comfortable before I return to the hospital."

"Don't worry anymore. Stark's couch is definitely better than mine."

She cracked a smile. "While that's good to hear, I was inquiring more about your ribs."

He shrugged one shoulder. "I'll be okay. I can sleep it off."

Peggy took his hand. "Daniel, if you find yourself in a similar situation in the future, you must call me."

"I didn't want to bother you."

"No, no." She shook her head. "It scared me to half to death when Vernon Masters answered your office phone. I need to know if you are hurt. Please, Daniel."

Daniel had never known Peggy to plead, yet here she was: holding his hand, doleful, sleepless eyes pink at the edges. He put his other hand over hers. "I will."

"Promise?"

He smiled softly. "I promise."

"Good." She let go of his hand and rose to her feet. "Well I must be off. Sleep well." Peggy leaned down, kissed him gently on the cheek, and strode out the door.

Daniel thought no one had ever warded off sleep so well.


End file.
